Suffering is defined as the state of undergoing pain, distress, or hardship. For example, war will cause widespread suffering; my friend suffers a lot during the winter when it’s cold, and his joints get stiff; or, because of her unimaginable guilt, she suffered greatly.
I don’t know anyone who hasn’t suffered at some point in their lives, be it physical, mental, or emotional. We all know what that feels like, and for the most part, we try to avoid suffering if we can. Obey traffic signs and drive safely to avoid a car accident. Pay attention when we use a sharp knife to cut our food so as not to injure ourselves (even those little cuts can hurt something fierce). Dress warm when it’s cold outside. Go swimming in a calm lake on a hot summer day.
Sometimes, though, despite our best intentions, suffering knocks on our door, and we have no choice but to let it in, even if we’d rather slam the door in its face. It tests our courage. It reminds us of our vulnerability. It isn’t easy. We hope it won’t last.
Many years ago, a colleague of mine broke her back and was bedridden for quite some time. I wish I could tell you I was the quintessential friend, spending hours at her bedside telling her stories. But I didn’t. I chose not to visit much because it upset me. I kept thinking I never wanted to suffer like that. It scared me. I made excuses, “Oh, I’m so sorry I can’t make it today. Too much going on.”
Spring came, and then summer. I hadn’t seen her in months and was surprised when I noticed her at our local market. Her hair had grown past her shoulders, cascading down her back in soft waves. She wore a light blouse and a pastel skirt that fell below her knees. She’d lost a lot of weight and looked almost ethereal. She noticed me, too, gracefully walking in my direction and smiling. “Hi there! It’s so nice to see you. How have you been?”
“Uh …” Shouldn’t I be saying that? “Fine, fine. Oh my gosh, you look great.” She did. Her eyes sparkled in the morning light, and her skin glowed.
“Time for coffee?” she asked.
We sat outside, under a canopy, the sun warm and bright. I wasn’t sure whether to apologize for not visiting her more often or to let it go and ask how she was. I chose the latter. “How are you?”
She didn’t respond immediately, looking at the ground for a few seconds before glancing up. “I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m so glad I broke my back. I’m such a better person because of it. Before I broke my back, I thought of leaving Tom, but now, we are closer than ever. Before I broke my back, all I could think of was me, me, me. Now, not so much.” She sat up straight. “I learned how to accept pain in a way I never knew existed.” She paused. “There’s a phrase I kept repeating whenever things got intense. You know, when I thought I couldn’t bear it anymore.” She took a sip of her coffee. “It’s the title of a French oil painting I like.” She paused again. “Suffering softens stones.”
“Oh, I think I understand.” I didn’t.
The conversation shifted. We briefly discussed our families before going our separate ways. I watched her find a shopping cart, admiring how she’d taken what I thought was a terrible accident and turning it into something positive.
I’ve since looked up that painting. It didn’t do anything for me, but I always liked the title and have often reflected on its meaning. Suffering softens stones. Hmmm. Maybe it’s like the constant dripping of water on a rock. As time passes, the drops carry small particles away until a noticeable part of the stone is gone. Or, maybe suffering makes us more resilient and able to handle hardships. Or maybe it teaches us patience and how to accept suffering as a friend rather than a foe so that when suffering knocks on my door, I can say, ‘Hello there, come on in. I know you won’t stay for long, but while you are here, make yourself comfortable’.
“A man who does not understand the benefit of suffering does not live a clever and true life.” Leo Tolstoy
Sharon
© 2024. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved.
